‘And is therefore, perhaps, a little prejudiced against those who, like the good monks of the Hospice, shut themselves from all human companionship, save that of the wayfarers whom they live to save and shelter? Yet, believe me, it is a life of sacred service! Even here, among the lonely snows, reaches the arm of the Holy Mother, to plant this cross by the wayside, as a symbol of her heavenly inspiration, and to build that holy resting-place as a haven for those who are weary and would rest.’
He spoke with the same soft insinuating smile as before, but his eye kindled, and his pale face flushed with enthusiasm. Alma, who had turned towards the carriage which stood awaiting her, looked at him with new interest. Something in his words chimed in with a secret longing of her heart.
‘I have been taught to believe, Monsieur, that your faith is practically dead. Everywhere we see, instead of its living temples, only the ruins of its old power. If its spirit exists still, it is only in places such as this, in company with loneliness and death.’
‘Ah, but Mademoiselle is mistaken!’ returned the other, following by her side as she walked slowly towards the carriage. ‘Had you seen what I have seen, if you knew what I know, of the great Catholic reaction, you would think differently. Other creeds, gloomier and more ambitious, have displaced ours for a time in your England; but let me ask you—you, Mademoiselle, who have a truly religious spirit—you who have yourself suffered—what have those other creeds done for humanity? Believe me, little or nothing. In times of despair and doubt, the world will again turn to its first Comforter, the ever-patient and ever-loving Church of Christ.’
They had by this time reached the carriage door. The stranger bowed again and assisted Alma to her seat. Then he raised his hat with profound respect in sign of farewell. The coachman was about to drive on when Alma signed for him to delay.
‘I am on my way to Domo d’Ossola,’ she said. ‘A seat in my carriage is at your service if you would prefer going on to remaining at the Hospice for the night.’
‘Mademoiselle, it is too much! I could not think of obtruding myself upon you! I, a stranger!’
Yet he seemed to look longingly at the comfortable seat in the vehicle, and to require little more pressing to accept the offer.
‘Pray do not hesitate,’ said Alma, smiling, ‘unless you prefer the company of the monks of the mountain.’
‘After that, I can hesitate no longer,’ returned the Abbé, looking radiant with delight; and he forthwith entered the vehicle and placed himself by Alma’s side.